


She keeps me warm

by ravenclawsdiadem (ravenclawsquill)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bisexual Female Character, Cunnilingus, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, Femslash, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Lesbian Character, Masturbation, POV First Person, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-16
Updated: 2017-02-16
Packaged: 2018-09-24 18:01:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9778085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ravenclawsquill/pseuds/ravenclawsdiadem
Summary: There’s nothing dainty about this; nothing polite or proper. She grinds against my face so hard it hurts, desperately seeking friction, always craving that little bit more than I’m willing to give.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was written for [HP_Kinkfest Round 8](http://hp-kinkfest.livejournal.com/) in response to a prompt submitted by [LeontinaBowie](http://leontinabowie.livejournal.com/profile).
> 
> I'd like to say a huge thank you to my tremendous beta, [Kitty September](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KittyAug/profile), whose brilliant suggestions improved this fic immeasurably.

Pansy Parkinson fancies me.

It’s a long running joke within our dorm. I’m not even sure where it started, but somewhere along the lines we decided that she wants a piece of me, and we’ve been ripping her about it ever since. It should have stopped being funny when I came out as an actual lesbian, but somehow that just made it even better. There’s no smoke without fire, after all.

I’ve been teasing her for years, joking every night that she wants nothing more than to hop into my bed. She always laughs it off – “ _Dream on, lezzie_ ,” she says – but recently, I’m not quite convinced.

It’s all very subtle: to the untrained eye, it would be easy to overlook. I’m no casual observer, though, and I feel the way her gaze lingers on me, her expression a barely-concealed blend of curiosity and consideration.

That in itself is unusual enough. My look is a little unconventional – something of an acquired taste, I suppose. Blaise puts it best: butch. People seem so hesitant to use that term – they shy away from it as if it’s frightening. It may be a scary word, but it’s the right word. Sometimes you just have to call a spade a spade, and lipstick lesbian I am _not_. 

I keep my hair short and my fingernails shorter. My thighs are thick, my face is plain, and I haven’t worn a dress since I was six years old. It’s shirts and trousers all the way, as far as I’m concerned, and if people don’t like it, that’s too bad for them.

That’s not to say I have a problem with girls who wear flouncy skirts and makeup. Quite the opposite, in fact. I just much prefer to look _at_ them than look _like_ them.

Pansy’s one of those girls. Femininity practically seeps from her pores. Her signature black bob is always perfectly styled and her makeup never falls short of immaculate. Every morning she lines her eyes, fills in those sharply angled brows and powders her cheeks to perfection. At the weekend she adds lipstick in a violent shade of red, but she doesn’t need it: her lips are a wonderfully deep pink all on their own.

Even in her school uniform, she manages to look sexy. Every time the teachers’ backs are turned, she rolls up her skirt to reveal her thighs and unfastens the top three buttons of her shirt so her cleavage is on display – and what a display it is.

She has the best tits I’ve ever seen. Just big enough, a little more than a handful, and full at the bottom, so her nipples point upwards. She doesn't wear a bra to bed, and I like to watch them stiffen in the cool air of the dormitory, hard little peaks pushing against the silky fabric of her nightdress. What I wouldn't give to taste them.

I know she’s noticed me watching, but it’s never made her uncomfortable enough to put a bra on. Sometimes it’s almost as if she’s flaunting them, which is ridiculous given that she’s supposed to be straight. Then again, she’s also supposed to be dating Draco Malfoy, but things between them aren’t exactly plain sailing from what I’ve seen. Draco’s never even around these days; he’s always wandering off on his own, gaunt and gangly, looking as if he’s seen a ghost. She deserves better.

He’s not here at all this week – family matters, apparently, whatever _that_ means. Almost everyone’s gone home for Easter this year; even Tracey’s off skiing with her parents. In fact, Pansy and I are the only girls left in our dorm.

Pansy always comes to bed much later than me, and tonight is no exception. I’m in my pyjamas, propped up in bed with the crossword from this morning’s _Prophet_ , when she finally comes in.

She gives a great sigh as she stalks over to her bed, kicking off her shoes as she goes. She turns away to face the wall while she changes into her nightie, then climbs into bed, shivering. Our dorm is always freezing – part and parcel of setting up camp in the dungeons, I suppose – but it’s much worse when there aren’t all five of us in here to generate body heat.

“Fuck me, it’s cold tonight,” she mutters, pulling the blankets up to her chin.

“Want to me to jump in with you?” I tease. “I’d have you sweating in no time.”

Usually it would be hilarious; if Daphne and Tracey were here, they’d crack up and we’d all have a laugh before drawing our bed curtains. Even Sally-Anne would smile from behind her book and roll her eyes. But they're not here, and it’s not funny tonight.

Pansy shrugs. “Depends how you’d do it,” she smirks, daring me to go further. She should know better than to bait me on this.

“By eating your pussy, of course. I’d make you come so hard you’d forget all about the cold.” I keep my tone light, as if I’m joking, but the look I give her is all fire.

I wait for the usual “Bugger off, lezzie”, but it never comes. She just sits there, watching me intently.

“Pans?”

She pauses, her face betraying the faintest hint of uncertainty, but she’s every bit as stubborn as I am, and she eventually juts out her chin. “Go on then,” she says. “Prove it.”

A powerful rush of adrenaline hits me as I realise what she’s offering. I’ve wanted this for longer than she could imagine, but I never expected that anything would actually come of it. Now that the opportunity has presented itself, wild Hippogriffs couldn’t stop me from taking it.

I cross the room on clumsy legs, flinching at the icy cold of the flagstones beneath my bare feet. She doesn’t take her eyes off me as she climbs back out from under her covers.

I settle on her bed beside her and kiss her, hard, before she can change her mind. Her lips are soft and pliant, and she tastes like cherries. She must have been nibbling at her Honeydukes stash again. Whatever the source, she’s delicious. 

She kisses me back eagerly, closing her eyes and bringing her hands up to cradle the back of my head. I slip my tongue into her mouth and kiss her deeply, letting my hands drift down to her waist so I can pull her closer as the kiss turns slow and sensual. The smooth satin of her nightie feels wonderful against my fingertips, but it has to go; it’s obstructing my access to her even softer skin. I end the kiss to pull it up and over her head, then shift away to look at her.

She looks back at me defiantly, as if she’s in charge, even though she’s kneeling before me wearing only her green silk knickers. Just as I expected, her tits look fantastic: full and round, her areolae crinkling as the peaks of her nipples stiffen in the cool air. I have to bite down on my bottom lip to silence my sigh of longing.

I pinch them once, to show her I mean business, then tug the bed curtains shut, cocooning us in the small space. As I do it, she grabs her wand from under her pillow and casts a warming charm. It won’t last – temperature spells never work properly down here – but hopefully we’ll have generated our own heat by the time it wears off.

The privacy of the closed curtains makes everything feel more intense. I pick up the kisses where we left off and reach out to cup her glorious breasts, enjoying the weight of them in my hands, feeling her smooth skin against my palms. Her nipples are the same rich pink as her lips, and they look every bit as delicious.

As I kiss her, I squeeze them between the thumb and middle finger of each hand, then run my forefingers over the very tips. If she’s sensitive enough – and from the way she arches into my touch, I’m sure that she is – she’ll feel it right in her clit, sharp shocks of pleasure that will make her squirm.

Sure enough, it’s not long at all before she’s panting against my mouth, her kisses faltering as she loses herself in the sensation. As beautiful as she looks like this, I think she’s ready for something even better.

“Do you want more?” I whisper against her lips.

I pinch her nipples harder when she fails to answer, relishing the choked moan which escapes her. “I can give you more.”

“Fucking hell, Millie…”

It’s not good enough. I need to hear her say it: need to know she’s as eager for this as I am. I run my tongue along her jawline, finishing with my lips against her earlobe, and all the while I continue to roll her sensitive nipples between my fingers. “You can’t have it unless you ask for it.”

“Okay, fine!” she gasps between panted breaths. “I want more.”

With a thrill of triumph I push her down gently, so she’s lying flat on her back, then straddle her hips and kiss slowly along the lines of her collarbones, breathing in the floral scent of her perfume. I want to bite her, to mark her as mine, but she might not like that and I’ll never forgive myself if I mess this up.

Instead, I press a final kiss to the notch at the base of her neck, and finally get my mouth on her beautiful nipples. I alternate between delicately fluttering my tongue over them and sucking firmly, until she’s writhing against the sheets, her skin glistening with a light sheen of sweat.

She’s ready for me. I climb off her and move down her body, trailing my hands over her stomach, and then, lower.

The dark patch on her silk knickers betrays how badly she wants this. I pull the flimsy fabric aside and run my fingertip along the length of her slit, taking in how wet she is. I draw a shuddering breath; it's almost too much for me.

Quickly, before her mind can catch up and allow second thoughts to creep in, I tug her knickers all the way down, slipping them neatly over her feet, pulling them off completely. When they're out of the way, I nudge her legs apart and kneel between them, ready to worship at the altar of her flesh.

She shifts on the bed, but I hold her still and take a moment to look at her. My chest tightens with anticipation as I allow my eyes to roam over her body: she’s even better than I could have imagined.

There’s a neat strip of hair along her mound, but her lips are shaved bare. I briefly wonder if she does it for _him_ , but that hardly matters. It’s me she’s in bed with tonight, and I’ll make sure it’s a night she never forgets.

Her outer lips are puffy and slightly parted, giving me a tantalising glimpse of the pleasures we’re about to enjoy. She’s absolutely _soaking_ , so wet that I can smell her. I lean in and inhale deeply, savouring the distinctly feminine musk that makes my pulse race and my mouth water. 

If I were to spread her open, part her tender folds of flesh, I’d find the prize I’m seeking. Patience is a virtue, though. I want to drive her out of her mind, and the best way to do that is to take my time – to pace myself and pace her too, however irresistable I find her.

I place my hands on her hips, barely containing my grin as she spreads her legs even wider for me. I’m not even sure she’s aware that she’s doing it, which makes it all the better.

I’m not so naive as to think no one has ever eaten her pussy before, but I know for fact that nobody has done it half as well as I'm about to. I like to think it takes another woman to truly know what to do, biased as that may sound.

When I’m settled into position, I nestle my nose into the delicate hollow at the top of her thigh. It’s one of my favourite teasing tactics, and it does the trick here, drawing a quiet whimper. She gasps when I begin to press open-mouthed kisses along her outer lips, but it quickly turns into an impatient groan when I decline to go further. I hold us both back, never quite giving in to a lick, keeping her suspended in the sweet torment of what’s to come. I feel her excitement building along with my own, slow and steady, until she finally hisses with frustration and puts her hands on the back of my head, trying to push my mouth against her properly.

“ _Please_ , Millie.”

It’s the cue I’ve been waiting for: time for me to really begin.

I flatten my tongue and give her pussy a long, slow lick, starting low, at her entrance, and dragging it all the way up to the cleft where her mound begins. Using my fingers to hold her lips apart, I do it again, over and over, feeling a surge of moist heat between my own thighs as her body opens up for me like a gift.

I can’t deny her what her body begs for any longer. I give her a final firm lick, coaxing a low moan from her, before making a start on her clit.

I roll back her hood and draw the swollen bud of nerves between my lips. I suck her hungrily, giving her rush after rush of intense pleasure until she’s bucking against my mouth, smearing her precious juices across my chin.

I’m drunk on the taste of her, intoxicated by her reactions. I want so badly I touch myself, to rub my own clit as I taste her. I resist, though: tonight is all about her pleasure, showing her what I can give that others can't, and it won't do for me to get distracted. 

She actually calls out my name when I push two fingers inside her. I groan into her pussy as she grips me, shuddering with pleasure as I fill her up. I slide my fingers in and out, gently at first, then harder, fucking her with my hand until her moans merge into a litany of incoherent bliss.

When she sounds like she’s close to coming, I reluctantly tear my mouth away from her pussy – I’m not ready for this to end just yet. I watch her face closely as I explore her inner walls with my fingertips, curving them upwards and stroking steadily until she’s squirming and shuddering, her cheeks stained pink with lust.

I can't stay away for long, though: I need to taste her again. Keeping my fingers buried deep inside her, I ignore the burning heat between my own legs and bury my face between hers, lapping hard with the flat of my tongue. I continue the same relentless rhythm until she’s squeezing me with her thighs, grunting low in her throat, completely lost in hedonistic pleasure. Every last bit of her carefully cultivated facade has fallen away – there’s no room left for anything but primal need. 

There’s nothing dainty about this; nothing polite or proper. She grinds against my face so hard it hurts, desperately seeking friction, always craving that little bit more than I’m willing to give. I almost lose my mind when she begins to babble.

“Exactly like that … fuck, yes, don't stop … _ohhhhhhh_...”

I do as she says, changing nothing, following the same slow track with my tongue as she thrashes against the mattress. She’s close, I can feel it. It’s all about consistency, now; giving her exactly what she wants as I guide her up and over that exquisite edge.

Barely a minute later, she convulses beneath me with each sweet, unstoppable pulse of her orgasm. She arches her back and squeezes her eyes tightly shut as her inner walls clench fiercely around my fingers, and what a sight it is.

I reluctantly pull away before the aftershocks end. She’ll be tender. I could try to push her – take her body past the point of oversensitivity, beyond anything she’s ever known – but multiple orgasms are a challenge for another day.

I give her a moment to recover while I enjoy the view. She’s a picture of erotic debauchery: her lips are flushed, her clit visible, swollen and peeping from beneath its hood. In short, she looks as though she’s been thoroughly fucked.

“Did you like that?” I ask.

She nods dazedly, still speechless, but her smile, along with the mottled flush across her chest, confirms a job well done.

I throw open the bed curtains and unwillingly haul myself up. I’d much prefer to stay, to settle myself beside her, doze off with my face pressed against the delicate nape of her neck, my arm thrown over the soft curve of her waist … but I’m not a fool. I don’t want this to be a one-off, so it’s vital that I leave her wanting more.

“Where are you going?” She’s fully recovered now. I can hear the familiar sharpness – indignance, almost – in her voice: how dare I leave her?

“Back to bed, obviously,” I say, as though I can’t believe she’d ask something so silly.

She frowns. “But what about you? Don't you want me to—?”

“Next time,” I say nonchalantly, dismissing her questions with a wave of my hand.

She’s still gaping as I settle into my own bed and tug the curtains shut with rather more force than is strictly necessary.

I should give it ten minutes, hold off until she falls asleep, until her breathing becomes heavy and even. I can’t wait any longer, though: the need to touch myself is so strong it’s unbearable. I barely give the curtains time to settle before I grab my pillow and wedge it between my legs. 

I hump the pillow as I would her thigh, rolling my hips and tensing my entire body, making no effort to keep quiet. I’m so desperate for relief that it takes me less than a minute to bring myself off, panting raggedly as the final rush of pleasure consumes me.

When I come back to myself, I turn onto my back and let myself float on a sea of post-orgasmic calm as my breathing gradually returns to normal. 

The dorm is incredibly quiet. It would be peaceful, even, if not for the knowledge of what Pansy and I have just done. Tension crackles in the air like wild magic as we each wait for the other to make the next move.

Several minutes pass before Pansy’s voice breaks the silence. It’s slightly muffled by the two sets of bed curtains, but that’s not enough to mask how utterly wrecked she sounds. “Night, Millie.”

I grin, victorious. “Night, lezzie.”


End file.
